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I’ve had to have a very honest heart-to-heart with myself over these issues - from many angles. Sometimes, it’s easy to make a judgement until you’ve actually been in that situation.

First, rape. I was raped. And there was a pregnancy scare three weeks later. For two hours, I had to sit quietly in a doctor’s office while I considered all of the ramifications. I finally came to the conclusion that this would be *my* baby and that it’s not the child’s fault that the father was a criminal. Nobody should be punished for their parents’ sins. My decision was made by the time I was called to receive the results of my blood test. I would never kill my child.

Second, if the child’s going to have a short life. Again, the decision wasn’t so hard. I made that decision with a dog. How could I do differently with a baby? Give them all the love I could, while I could.

Third, the child would have severe physical disabilities. I’ve known too many people with physical disabilities that love their lives. If they wouldn’t commit suicide, how could I justify murder?

Fourth, the child would have severe mental disabilities.

Now here’s the one that trips me up. I was diagnosed with PVS when I was born. The diagnosis was that I would never walk, talk, or even have the ability to be potty trained. Yet, here I am. Married. Two kids raised and a new grandchild. Some college. Diagnoses can be wrong. (Yes. I didn’t have reflexes until I was 6 weeks old. I didn’t cry until 3 months. But I was walking and talking by a year. Go figure.)

On the other hand, I worked at a home for mentally disabled adults and it was horrible. The worst situations were where this person was loved and cared for until family died, then they were dumped in these holes. I cannot begin to express how horrible this was.

Death would’ve been kinder. I am not exaggerating. We had a man who had his gallbladder removed without anesthetic because the dr didn’t believe that ‘those people’ could feel pain. The bewildered, horrified confusion in their eyes as they were psychologically and physically abused (all of it legal) was agonizing. (I fought. I called families. I reported. Finally, I quit.) Yet, NOBODY was sued or prosecuted. NOBODY CARES. The majority of it was legal.

I could not abandon my child to that. I just couldn’t. I’m afraid that I’d be one of those mothers who, seeing the end, gave their kid a merciful death to prevent suffering.

But would I abort?

No. Not as long as I was there to protect and love them. I’d have to give them a fighting chance.

But until you *really* pause and say, “What would I do...? Honestly?” and put yourself in the situation - with all of the fear and doubt - the kneejerk reaction is without compassion for the realities of the people suffering.